


Should've Read the Fine Print

by coffeeinallcaps



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Humor, M/M, Oblivious Stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-26
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 17:41:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/700935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeeinallcaps/pseuds/coffeeinallcaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hold on,” Scott said, looking from the wolf to Derek with his mouth hanging open. “That’s... that’s Derek’s wolf? As in, the wolf part of him? Like... in a separate body?”<br/>“Corporealized,” Lydia supplied with an unimpressed flick of her hair.<br/>“<i>Awesome</i>,” Erica said.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Should've Read the Fine Print

Stiles scrambled out of his jeep, took the steps to Derek’s front door two at a time and barged into the house, yelling, “Yo, Derek, I found some more information about those—”

That’s about as much of his night-longresearch he was able to reveal before something huge and hairy and heavy and _definitely not Derek_ slammed him up against the wall. It couldn’t possibly be Derek; Stiles was quite familiar with Derek Hale slamming him into vertical surfaces—come to think of it, horizontal ones as well, though not in the way one would… anyway, point being that ‘surfaces in general’ was probably more applicable here—and it usually happened with a little more angsty eyebrow and a little less furry wetness(?!) than this.

Stiles went, “Huaaargh,” and shielded his face with his arms to protect it from the as-of-yet-unidentified object (definitely animate, possibly dangerous). “What the fu—”

The thing backed away and barked.

Stiles peeked out from in-between his wrists. Okay, it was huge as fuck, larger than any house pet he had ever seen, its black fur shaggy and coarse-looking and its eyes vaguely un-animalistic in some way, but it looked suspiciously much like…

“You got a _dog?_ ”

The dog sat on its haunches and started to pant, tongue lolling happily out of its mouth. Stiles lowered his arms very, very slowly. The dog’s pointy ears dipped forward in curious anticipation. It seemed friendly, now that it wasn’t trying to shower Stiles with saliva.

“It’s a wolf, actually,” Derek said weakly. He was standing all the way on the other side of the room with his arms wound tightly across his chest, making his biceps bulge even more than usual. It was distracting. Derek’s shoulders were hunched forward. He looked spectacularly out of place, which was odd considering, you know, this was his place.

“Dude, that’s… mildly terrifying, not to mention illegal, but also _fucking awesome_.” Stiles held out his hand for the wolf to sniff and, when it responded by wagging its majestically fluffy tail, crouched down to pet its head. “What, did you rescue it or something? Did you find it in the woods? Or did Deaton…”

“Stiles,” Derek said, again with the constipated voice. “That’s my wolf.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and scratched the wolf behinds its ears. “Yes, obviously, dude, I got that, I wasn’t gonna steal him from you or anything, although— oh, you’re quite cute, aren’t you, big guy? Yes, yes you are… what’s your name, eh? What’s your name?”

The wolf’s tail started swirling back and forth even faster.

Stiles switched back to his talking-to-people-voice. (He refused to be embarrassed about his talking-to-animals voice: anyone who claimed not to have one was a _liar_.) “Hey, dude, what’s his name?”

Derek didn’t respond.

Stiles tore his gaze away from the adorable wolf, which was making soft rumbling sounds of contentment at this point. Derek was still on the other side of the room. It looked as though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Um,” Stiles said. “Hello? Earth to Derek?”

Derek blinked, frowned. His eyes were filled with… was that fear? Stiles felt a matching pang of panic in his gut even though he didn’t know why Derek was freaking out yet. “Is something wrong?” he asked. “Derek?”

“That’s _my_ wolf,” Derek whispered.

Stiles looked down at the wolf. It met his eyes, curious. Stiles looked up at Derek again— only to be met with the exact same pair of eyes.

And then it hit him.

“ _Oh_ ,” he breathed. “Holy shit.”

The wolf panted and licked a wet stripe up the left side of Stiles’ now slackened jaw.

“Yeah,” Derek said. “I think that about covers it.”

Stiles leaned back against the wall. “I’m pretty sure I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Yeah, well,” Derek said, “me neither.”

 

* * *

 

 

For the first time ever, Deaton was no help at all.

“I’ve never come across anything like this before, Stiles,” he said after Stiles had explained The Situation (as Derek was calling it) to him in painstaking detail (at Derek’s insistence) on the phone (“No, Stiles, this can’t wait!”). “As far as I’m aware it’s not something that can be achieved with the type of… remedies I am familiar with. Off the top of my head it sounds like the doing of powerful magic, some sort of separation curse perhaps, but that’s all I’ve got, I’m afraid.”

“Great. Ah well,” Stiles said, absently patting the wolf’s head. “Thanks anyway.”

“I’m sorry I can’t be of more use to you,” Deaton said. “So the lupine part of him became corporeal, you say? That’s very interesting. I never knew they could be considered separate entities…”

With every second that passed, Derek – who was standing in front of one of the windows, biting down his nails one by one – was looking more and more agitated. “Yeah, uh, is it all right if I call you later?” Stiles said, hastily ending the call before Derek could jump out of the window, or start breaking things or something like that. The guy wasn’t exactly renowned for impeccable decision-making skills. “Hey, dude, it’s not the end of the world, all right? We’ll figure something out.”

Derek traced a fingertip along the edge of the windowsill. “I’m guessing that means Deaton didn’t have a solution either?”

“Yeah, couldn’t you catch that with your wolfy superhear…” Stiles trailed off. Whoops.

“That _thing_ has stolen all my wolfy superpowers, in case you forgot,” Derek snarled, jerking his chin in the direction of the wolf. Trust Derek Hale to be able to make a simple head movement look bloodthirsty.

Stiles combed his fingers through the looser fur at the wolf’s neck. The second he’d sat down to make the phone call to Deaton, the wolf had jumped onto the couch to make itself comfortable beside him, nestling its nose against Stiles’ thigh. It was rumbling happily, more like a lap cat than a member of the canine family. “You don’t have to act all grumpy toward him,” Stiles defended the wolf. “Why don’t you try looking at this situation from the bright side? It could’ve been so much worse. I mean, his behavior is pretty impressive. Especially if you consider he’s, like, a previously bodiless part of your… personality, or soul, or whatever.”

Derek deflated. “You don’t understand,” he said miserably. “You don’t know what it’s like. I couldn’t hear that shitty jeep of yours until it was right in front of the house! And I can’t even smell—” He cut off his sentence abruptly.

“Well, there you go,” Stiles said. “Another bright side, not being suffocated by the scent of smelly teenagers twenty-four seven.”

“Indeed,” Derek said stiffly. His face was turning slightly pink.

“Anyway,” Stiles continued, “I don’t want to keep referring to this guy as ‘the wolf’ and ‘it’ in my head, so we’re gonna have to come up with a name for him at some point.”

Derek said, “No.”

 

* * *

 

 

Eventually, they settled on Junior. All the badass names Stiles had been dying to give to a dog at some point in his life since basically _forever_ – like Buddy, Maximus, Dexter, George Clooney, Achilles – were shot down by Derek in a matter of nanoseconds. After begrudgingly admitting that it could be convenient to have a term to refer to The Situation, Derek suggested My Wolf or Derek’s Wolf or just Wolf, in response to which Stiles suggested Wolfy, in response to which Derek grabbed him by the back of the neck and slammed his head against the coffee table, in response to which the wolf let its eyes glow red and attempted to sink its teeth into Derek’s underarm, at which he would have succeeded if Stiles hadn’t distracted him with belly rubs.

When both halves of Derek’s being were reasonably calm again, Stiles sat rubbing the bruise that was forming on his forehead and half-jokingly said, “What about Derek Junior?”

He was already bracing himself for the next overreaction, but Derek cocked his head to the side and said, “Actually, that might work.” So Junior it was.

 

Derek didn’t want the pack to find out that he had essentially lost all his werewolf powers, which was, as Stiles pointed out to him, ridiculous. Derek couldn’t just hide inside and wait for the situation to solve itself, the others had a right to know what was going on with their alpha, and maybe Peter had more information about whatever was going on; all right, that was probably a long shot, but Stiles sure as hell wasn’t going to support a Derek Hale Sourwolfing His Way To An Early Grave campaign, especially not single-handedly. He sent out a mass text stating, _Emergency pack meeting at Derek’s come ASAP!!!_ while Derek sat scowling in the armchair in the corner. Junior trotted around the room, pointedly ignored his human counterpart, and repeatedly approached Stiles for a pat on the head or another belly rub.

When Scott and Allison arrived, Junior gave them much the same treatment he had given Stiles earlier; ditto happened to Lydia and Jackson, and Erica, Isaac, and Boyd after them. It was only when Peter entered the house that Junior completely lost his shit, yelping in excitement and jumping around him in a way that strongly reminded Stiles of Simba waking up Mufasa at the start of _The Lion King_. Except for the fact that Mufasa wasn’t an undead mass murderer.

“Oh my God,” Peter said and erupted into loud, uncontrollable laughter. “Please tell me this is what I think it is.”

Derek’s scowl deepened. He looked torn between wanting to be swallowed by the earth and wanting to grab Peter by the shoulders to shake him back and forth and make a solution fall out of him. “What do you think it is?” he demanded, sitting up.

“This is absolutely fucking hilarious,” Peter said, crouching down to ruffle Junior’s head. Junior wagged his tail and licked Peter in the face. “Hey, boy. Oh my God, you’re just like I remember you. A lot bigger, obviously, but still.”

“What,” Derek said.

“What,” Stiles echoed.

“What the fuck is going on?” Scott complained from the couch. “Where’d the dog come from? Is anyone going to explain any of this?”

Peter looped his arms around the wolf’s neck and buried his face in its fur. “So who’d you piss off, little nephew? A witch? A fairy? Or maybe just an ordinary troll?”

“Are you talking to the wolf or to me?”

Peter raised his head high enough for everyone to see his eye-roll. “Your wolf can’t speak for itself, genius. You’re gonna have to use your words.”

“Hold on,” Scott said, looking from the wolf to Derek with his mouth hanging open. “That’s… that’s _Derek’s_ wolf? As in, the wolf part of him? Like… in a _separate_ _body?_ ”

“Corporealized,” Lydia supplied with an unimpressed flick of her hair.

“Awesome,” Erica said.

“How the fuck is that even possible?” Jackson managed to sound inquisitive yet bored at the same time.

“Everybody shut up,” Derek yelled. His voice usually had a deep alpha timbre when he gave a command, but now he sounded more like an exasperated soccer mom than a natural figure of authority. “Peter, explain. You’ve seen this… thing before?”

Peter lifted one eyebrow. “Aw, Derek, don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“This is such a mindfuck,” Scott said from the couch.

Derek looked like he was about to throttle someone, so Stiles decided to intervene. “Peter,” he said.

“Fine,” Peter said with another dramatic eye-roll. “So, you all know there are certain differences between born wolves and bitten wolves, right?”

“No shit,” Jackson said under his breath.

“Well,” Peter continued, “born wolves are born with the ability to shift, but they have much less control over it—”

Jackson muttered, “Tell us something we _don’t_ know.”

Peter glared at him. “—so, to cut a long story short before our precious Jackson's pea-sized brain can’t handle the onslaught of new information any longer, born wolves spend a great deal of their babyhood shifting back and forth between a full cub form and a full human form. They generally learn to control the shift in their third year of life, which is also when the half-form we all use most develops.”

“You and Derek used to be puppies?” Erica said. “That is so unfair. _I_ want to be a puppy.”

“So how come none of you ever shift into a full wolf now?” Allison asked.

“Well, Laura could,” Peter said. “And I used to be able to do it. It’s difficult, though, especially when there’s no one to teach you how to do it. And apparently misdemeanors such as committing a couple of murders can permanently distort your full wolf form. Who knew?”

“It must be like Jackson and his Kanima form,” Stiles thought out loud. “Like, your human shittiness affects your shape-shiftery awesomeness, as it were.”

“Hey, loser,” Jackson said. “Shut up.”

“You shut up,” Scott said from the couch. “Asshole.”

Peter frowned. “Then again, it doesn’t make sense that Jackson attained a normal form in the end, because he’s still a douchebag much as I’m a murderer.”

Jackson pulled a smug face. “I guess I’m just special.” Lydia elbowed him hard enough to make him wheeze.

“I can’t remember ever shifting into him,” Derek spoke up, dejectedly staring at the black wolf that had nestled itself at Stiles’ feet at some point during the conversation.

“Well, you were three years old the last time it happened,” Peter said. He snorted. “You were all huge paws and spiky fur. I’d never before seen a pup as utterly uncoordinated as you were. It was adorable. I can’t believe your parents never showed you the pictures.”

“They might have,” Derek said. “I can’t remember.” His brow furrowed and one corner of his mouth twitched.

“All right,” Stiles cut in hastily. “So, Peter, you seem to think something or someone extracted Derek’s full wolf form from him. Any idea how? Or why?”

“Or who,” Derek added, cracking his knuckles.

Peter shrugged. “I dunno. I’m thirsty. What happened to your manners, Derek? Get one of your minions to make me a drink.”

“Seriously?” Stiles said. “We have a huge-ass crisis going on here. Do you really think this is the time and place to complain about being thirsty?”

Peter raised both eyebrows at Junior, who was dozing peacefully with his head on his front paws. “Doesn’t look like a huge-ass crisis to me. It could’ve been much worse. If my wolf form had been extracted from me I’m pretty sure we’d all be dead by now.” He had a point there. “So, about that drink?”

“There’s coke in the fridge,” Derek said through gritted teeth.

“Fine. You’re all useless. I’ll go get it myself.” Peter strode across the room and into the kitchen area.

“Oh, and make us some popcorn!” Erica yelled after him. “What?” she said when Derek cast his murderous gaze upon her. “I’m hungry.”

“There’s leftover pizza in the fridge.”

“Fuck yes,” Erica said, scampering after Peter.

 

With the coffee table stocked with bottles of coke, bowls of popcorn and ice-cold pizza boxes, they were ready to brainstorm about who (or what) could have done this and why.

“You must have pissed off somebody recently,” Peter insisted. “Think hard.”

Derek hunched forward, frowning. After a while, he cleared his throat. “Well, there was this girl in the grocery store the other day,” he mumbled at his hands.

“What?” Stiles said.

“A girl in the grocery store,” Derek repeated, louder.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. I meant ‘elaborate’.”

“Oh. Um, it was yesterday. I was doing the grocery shopping—”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Jackson muttered.

“—and I might have said something to this girl,” Derek continued as though he hadn’t heard Jackson. (Come to think of it, he actually might not have heard him. Wow. It was odd as fuck, Derek without his werewolfy powers.)

“Like what?” Peter prompted.

Derek mumbled something completely unintelligible.

“What was that?” Boyd asked.

“I told her, ‘Get out of my fucking way, bitch’.”

Isaac and Jackson snorted.

“No, I just asked her if she could move. Guess it didn’t sound very friendly, though.”

“How charming,” Allison said. “How old was she?”

Derek had the decency to look embarrassed. “Um, like, nine? Or ten?”

“Jesus Christ, Derek.”

“She was blocking the magazine aisle!”

“Let’s just focus on what she looked like,” Peter said.

“I don’t know,” Derek said, crossing his arms defensively. “Tiny, I guess. Skinny-ish. Long white-blond hair. Or maybe she was a brunette, I’m not sure.”

“Was there anything out of the ordinary about her?”

“Or maybe about one of her parents,” Stiles suggested.

“No. I didn’t see anyone else. It seemed like she was there on her own.” Derek was quiet for a few seconds. “I did notice that she didn’t have a scent, but I didn’t really think anything of it.”

Peter let his head drop into his hands. “You are a disgrace to our non-existent family.”

Derek scowled at him. “I was in a hurry, all right?”

While the Hales launched into a heated discussion, Stiles slinked off to the corner of the room to which Junior had retreated. The wolf started beating its tail against the floor as soon as Stiles approached him, panting excitedly up at him.

“Hey buddy,” Stiles murmured, crouching down. Junior licked his hand and then rested his heavy head on Stiles’ knee. “This must be pretty weird for you, having your own body and all, huh?” Except, Stiles realized as he spoke, it wasn’t weird for Junior at all; he was acting like he’d always _been_ a pet wolf, rather than a different manifestation of Derek that was linked to his personality. Jeez. This whole werewolf thing really didn’t make a shred of sense, did it?

 

* * *

 

 

In the absence of a better plan, it was decided that Stiles and Derek would stake out the grocery store in case the girl went back there. Allison would go and see if her dad knew anything about fairies or witches or any other kind of creature that could work magic; the others would get their hands on as much relevant information as they could find.

“But I’m the researcher,” Stiles complained.

Peter arched one eyebrow at him. “Please. You have the attention span of a demented goldfish.” He left with his MacBook under his arm, the rest of the pack trailing obediently after him. Junior sat by the door and demanded pettings from everyone, including Jackson, on their way out.

“Well then.” Stiles turned back to Derek. “Get in loser, we’re going shopping.”

Derek stared at him.

“It’s a refere— never mind.” Stiles started patting around for his car keys.

“Whatever.” Derek walked to the door in that wide-legged, either-my-jeans-are-too-tight-or-my-balls-are-too-big way of his. (Not that Stiles had ever, ever, ever spent a single second contemplating Derek’s, um, pants situation. _Ever_. Not during Stiles time late at night in bed, biting down on his free hand as to not make any noise; nor even while stroking off quickly in the downstairs toilet before or after – usually after – actually, usually both before and after – pack meeting. Not ever. Derek? With his impeccable upper arms and his suspiciously high-placed belly button and his tortured-young-man scruff that would cause delicious stubble burn for _days?_ Nope. Never.) “We’re taking my car.”

“Fine. Control freak,” Stiles muttered under his breath.

“You’re driving.” Derek shrugged into his leather jacket and threw his car keys at Stiles. Stiles caught them with his right hand. “What?” he asked, too shocked to properly appreciate his own tour de force of hand-eye coordination. “I’m doing what?”

“You. Are. Driving,” Derek said. “Also, why are we still talking? Let’s go.” He looked at Junior, who was standing expectantly in front of the door, and half-heartedly waved a hand in the wolf’s general direction. Junior wagged his tail.

“Kssshhht,” Derek said, and tried to push Junior’s front paws aside with his foot.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Derek, what the hell are you doing?”

“He won’t get away from the door,” Derek complained. “Can’t you go put him in the bathroom or something? I don’t want him to trash the place while we’re gone.”

“You want to leave him here.”

“Yeah.”

“You want to lock him in the bathroom,” Stiles said.

Derek frowned. “Yeah.”

“You want to lock a part of yourself – an adorable, well-behaved, _friendly_ part of _yourself_ – in the bathroom.”

Derek ducked his head.

“C’mon, Junior,” Stiles said, leaning around Derek to push the door open. Junior followed him closely.

“At least give me a second to find a blanket for the backseat,” Derek yelled after them.

 

“So why’d you let me drive?” Stiles asked, steering into the empty parking space in front of the grocery store. “I mean, not that don’t appreciate it, obviously, because, I mean, whoa, this car is like a fucking _wet dream_ , but. I’m curious.”

Derek mumbled something.

“What?”

“All my senses have been… _humanized_ , you dimwit,” Derek said louder. “I didn’t want to risk— I didn’t want to risk crashing my car.” He shifted in his seat. “Fuck, that thing is probably getting claw marks all over the leather.”

Stiles cut the engine and reached back to pet Junior’s head. The wolf had slobbered all over him on the way to the store and repeatedly tried to climb over the seats and deposit himself in Stiles’ lap at traffic light stops. It was adorable. “You know, you’re severely underestimating the intelligence of your wolfy side.”

“Whatever,” Derek said, resting his chin in his hand and staring out of the window.

 

Six hours passed. The girl didn’t show up.

“Well,” Stiles said, stretching, “I can’t exactly blame her. I mean, if _I_ had magic skills, ‘hanging around grocery stores all day long’ wouldn’t be at the top of my to-do list either.” He let out a jaw-cracking yawn.

“Tired?” Derek asked, unimpressed.

Stiles shrugged. “Aren’t you?”

Derek made his eyebrows waver non-committally and went back to staring out of the window. Stiles sighed, let his gaze drift to the rear-view mirror. An involuntary “Aahww,” tumbled off his lips.

Derek’s head shot around. “What?”

“Just look at him.” Junior was fast asleep with his head on his paws and his fluffy tail curved primly around his body. Sprawled out like this, he took up the entire backseat with ease. “He’s so fucking cute.”

Derek looked. His expression remained stoic. “Whatever.”

“Seriously?” Stiles said. “You seriously don’t think he’s the cutest thing you have ever seen in your life?”

Derek stared at him for about a century. “No,” he said eventually, spitting out the word like it was hurting his teeth. “He isn’t.”

Stiles rolled his eyes and was about to ask (rhetorically) what _was_ when suddenly, he caught sight of a white-haired blur in the rear-view mirror. “Derek!” he said, elbowing him. “Is that her?”

“ _Ow_ ,” Derek yowled, clutching his arm. “Jesus Christ, Stiles! That’s gonna bruise!”

“Focus, Derek! Is it her?”

Derek scowled out of the window. “I think it might be.”

“Oh my God,” Stiles said, and threw open the car door. Junior was already climbing into the front seat, tail beating against the roof in excitement.

“Wait!” Derek said, grabbing him. “What are you going to say to her?”

Stiles stared at the hand that had closed around his wrist, warm and broad. “Um,” he said, his brain blissfully blank for a second. “I don’t know? I’ll figure it out, I just— fuck, she’s already gone in! Whatever, I’m going after her.”

Derek yelled after him, “Be ca—”

Sprinting through the fruit and vegetable aisle at full speed with Junior by his side, Stiles was finally starting to feel like the hero of this story. “Miss!” he yelled, narrowly avoiding a woman in an electric scooter. “MISS! WAIT!”

The white-haired girl turned around.

“Hi,” Stiles said, skidding to a halt next to her. “Um… hi.”

“Hi. What do you want?” the girl asked curiously, cocking her head to the side.

Stiles hesitated. What _did_ he want? He hadn’t thought past this point. He’d thought he’d have more time, or something. Now that she was standing in front of Stiles, it seemed highly unlikely that this child was capable of, let alone responsible for, _splitting Derek’s soul apart_. “Never mind, I thought you were—”

“Wait,” the girl said as she leaned forward and narrowed her eyes at Junior, who was sitting politely by Stiles’ side. “I know you.”

Junior wagged his tail.

“You recognize him?” Stiles asked, heart leaping with hope. “Great! Because—”

“He’s that dickfaced douchebag from the other day!” the nine-year-old girl said and let out a cute little peal of laughter. “Ha! I got you good, didn’t I, you unmannered ass-shat?”

“Um,” Stiles said, taken aback. “See, I was hoping—”

“I changed him into a goddamn motherfucking _dog_ ,” the girl continued. She hopped up and down and clapped her hands. “I can’t wait to tell mommy, she’s gonna be so proud.”

Holy shit. “Can I just—”

“Wait,” the girl said again, staring up at Stiles with huge, bright eyes. “Were you friends?”

“Um… before I answer that question, might you be able to tell me what exactly you did to him?” Stiles asked.

The little girl giggled. “I turned him into a dog, silly! You can see that, right?”

“So I’m guessing you didn’t purposefully separate his wolfy soul from his human soul and put them into two separate bodies?” Stiles tried.

“What?” the girl said, frowning. “You are _weird_.”

Stiles massaged his temples. “Is there any way I could speak to your mother?”

 

The pre-teen witchlet's mother apologized for her daughter’s actions three times. “Lilith is going through a bit of an experimental phase,” she sighed, twirling a lock of her bright blue hair around her finger. “Last month she turned her principal into a frog. You can’t imagine the inconvenience that… anyway, it’s a good thing our spells work differently on supernatural beings than they do on humans. If she'd succeeded in turning your mate into a dog, he might have been miles away by now.”

“Are you Australian?” Stiles asked. Interesting; he hadn’t been able to detect an accent in her speech. Maybe it was a witch thing, like the alleged lack of scent.

The witch smiled. “Go home, Mr. Stilinski. Make sure Mr. Hale falls asleep in the same room as Junior here. While they rest, the spell will be reversed.”

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s weird,” Stiles said, pulling at one of Junior’s ears. “I know I’ve only known him for, like, a day, but I’m really gonna miss this guy.” Upon their return to Derek’s house, Junior had aggressively tackled Stiles down onto the living room couch. He was refusing to let him move. Not that Stiles minded; he was quite comfortable.

Derek looked up, made a grumpy little noise, and went back to glaring at his empty coffee cup.

Stiles sighed. “It wouldn’t kill him to be a little more like you,” he murmured to Junior, who panted and nuzzled Stiles’ cheek with his wet nose.

“How do you even do that?” Derek spoke up, still scowling.

“Do what?”

“ _That_ ,” Derek said bitterly. “Making him like you.”

“Um,” Stiles said. “I have no idea? He’s a friendly guy, I think he likes just about everyone, dude.”

Derek inspected his frayed fingernails and mumbled, “No he doesn’t.”

“He even liked _Jackson_.”

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t like me.”

Stiles looked from Derek to Junior and back. “Surely he does,” he protested.

“Please,” Derek said, rolling his eyes. He was a spit image of Peter when he did that; it was kind of scary. “He basically ignored me all morning and he hasn’t glanced at me twice since you arrived. He’s been all over _you_.”

Stiles shifted into a more upright position. “Wait, are you jealous?”

Derek stared at him.

“Because I could totally leave, if you need some bonding time with your, I don’t know, other half, whatever, I didn’t even think about—”

“You’re such a stupid fucking idiot,” Derek snapped, picking up his empty cup and angrily carrying it into the kitchen.

“Jesus,” Stiles murmured. “What crawled up _his_ ass and died?”

Junior let out a little whine and snuggled closer.

 

* * *

 

 

When Stiles left Derek’s place that evening, it felt like losing a friend. Worse, it felt like abandoning one. He cried a little on his drive home. Manly tears, obviously. Manly tears of fatigue and animal love and… whatever. Manly tears.

He felt antsy all night.

 _Remember, you two have to be the SAME ROOM_ , he texted Derek at 11 o’clock.

 _I know. Unlike some of us I’m not an idiot._ Derek replied.

 _Whatever_ , Stiles texted back.

 _Are you asleep yet???!!!_ he sent at twenty past midnight.

There was no reply. He resent the message twice.

 _Derek?_ Stiles sent at six in the morning, and _Did it work??_ a few minutes later.

_Derek???_

_I’m coming over_ , he sent at a quarter past nine.

 

* * *

 

 

“What do you want,” Derek said, leaning against the doorframe.

“Did it work?” Stiles asked.

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Stiles said, “good.”

Derek didn’t move, just continued to stare him down.

“Can I come in?” Stiles prompted eventually.

Derek shrugged one shoulder and said, “Why?” but he did turn around and walk into the house, motioning for Stiles to follow.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because we’re _friends_ and I keep saving your ass?” Stiles whispered to himself, slamming the door shut behind him. “Just a wild fuckin’ guess.”

Derek whipped back around. Shit; Stiles had forgotten that his wolfy superhearing must have returned. Whoops.

“What was that?” Derek said sharply.

“Never mind.” The house was terrifyingly empty without Junior around. Stiles felt a twinge of sadness in his chest area.

“I heard what you said,” Derek said, eyes narrowing. “I was asking for _elaboration_.” He spat out the last word.

Stiles held up his hands. “Dude, did you wake up on the wrong fucking side of the bed or something?”

Derek rolled his eyes. “I was just wondering what you were doing here. Junior is gone, evidently, so…”

Stiles stared at him. It was entirely possible that Derek was still producing words, but they weren’t reaching Stiles’ brain; he was too busy processing the implausible, outlandish, preposterous – yet at the same time somehow, in some weird way, _logical_ – explanation for Derek’s behavior that had meteorited down on him.

“…Stiles?” Derek said.

“Oh my God,” Stiles whispered. “It wasn’t me you were jealous of – you were jealous of _him_. You were jealous of Junior!”

Derek looked like he was in pain. “Stiles—”

“No, this totally makes sense!” Stiles said. “Holy fuck, how did I not see this before?”

Derek turned pink. “Stiles,” he said, quietly this time.

“Oh my God, Derek, are you in love with me?” Stiles exclaimed.

Derek winced and rushed out a “No!”, but his face was flushing an even brighter shade.

“You totally _are_ ,” Stiles said. “You totally are!” He inched closer, pulse fluttering nervously in his throat.

“Am totally _not_ ,” Derek said, but his tone of voice lacked conviction. “Totally not. Why would I be in love with _you?_ You are… you’re…” Stiles took another step. They were face to face now, no more than a foot in-between them. Derek made a frustrated noise and said, “You’re _infuriating_.”

Stiles reached out and flattened his hand against the center of Derek’s muscle-bound chest. In there, his heart was beating away at an unusually high speed, just like Stiles’.

“Yeah, well,” Stiles said, “you are infuriating as well,” and he pressed their lips together in their first kiss of many.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope reading this was as much fun as writing it was! 
> 
> Come find me [on Tumblr](http://coffeeinallcaps.tumblr.com).


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